


I Just Wanted to See You so Bad

by MymbleHowl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, I spent too much time on Mr Porter deciding what Theon was wearing, Lucinda Williams song, Modern AU, Phone Calls & Telephones, and its in the past, not that much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MymbleHowl/pseuds/MymbleHowl
Summary: I drove my car in the middle of the nightI just wanted to see you so badThe road was dark but the stars were bright
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	I Just Wanted to See You so Bad

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'm rubbish at writing Theonsa, I don't think I get the tone right, but anyway lots of the songs on Lucinda Williams eponymous album feel Theonsary to me and there should be more Theonsa in the world, so here we are.
> 
> Warning - essentially this is a book AU or maybe a "weird amalgamation" AU, so whilst there is no Ramsey for Sansa there definitely is for Theon and there is still Baelish and Joffrey for Sansa and there are slight references to domestic abuse (both physical and coercive control). So when I say not that much angst I mean in the story, the usual awful amounts of terrible ness in their past, sorry.

It is Jon who gives Sansa Theon’s number. She isn’t sure how he has it or why he has it.

She texts Theon before her tutorial but she has to switch her phone off in the middle of it because Dr Glover is frowning at her because it's buzzing whilst Gilly asks a question about the difference between Northern and Southron Libel Law.

When she switches her phone back on he’s called twice and left her 2 voicemails. Who leaves voicemail? She thinks.

“Hi it’s Theon, Theon Greyjoy, it would be,” Sansa can hear him sigh, “well I’m around from 7.30, that’s 4.30, NST, I guess.”

“Hi it’s Theon again, sorry if that message was garbled, I’m around today from 4.30, you’re in Winterfell right? Or message me. If you want.”

She saves both the messages.

She calls on the dot at 4.30. They talk about none of the stuff Sansa thinks Jon thought she might talk to Theon about.

They talk about Dr. Glover, and his effortlessly grumpy demeanour.

“Before I started the diploma, I was doing some clerking on Jon’s WhiteOIL prosecution and Dr Glover was consulting and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to lick Jon’s boots or fail to give him any help at all.”

“How is the North’s wunderkind advocate?”

“He’s fine, he’s almost as grumpy as Dr. Glover, if doggedly more consistent.”

“Doggedly more consistent?” Theon says slowly, as if trying to get his head around this version of her cousin.

“Oh you know, he lives, sleeps and eats destroying WhiteOIL.” She doesn’t mention her frustration that Jon seems to think taking down one badly behaved Oil and Gas company will save the world. She doesn’t mention her dread that there are too many things in the world that need destroying to ever feel safe.

They talk about what Daenerys Targaryen wears as she negotiates ethical banking principles with his sister.

“Dramatic slate grey chiffon and crisp tailoring, she marries them together, its is very effective.” He is in a hotel room in Meereen after remaking the world of finance apparently.

“And what are you wearing?” She asks him.

He laughs, “you know, when you’re on the phone, asking someone what they’re wearing is the equivalent of foreplay.”

“I’m just trying to picture the scene.”

“I’m just wearing a suit, it’s a nice suit but well, I’m only part of the background, I don’t think you need to picture me in the scene, Asha only has me here so she can keep an eye on me.”

She knows why Asha would want to keep an eye on him but she wants to stay in this glow of a conversation about nothing.

“So the suit?”

“Today it was a mid grey puppy-tooth, single breasted, silk linen blend.”

“Puppy-tooth?”

“That’s what the fabric is called.” He protests.

“That’s so cute, I had no idea suits were cute. What about your shirt?”

“I wasn’t wearing a shirt, I was wearing a silk and cotton blend sweater.”

Sansa can hear the laughter in his voice.

“Crew neck, or v neck? I’m assuming not a roll neck in Meereen. Colour?” She queries.

“Crew neck. V neck? Sansa I’m offended. I guess it’s mustard.”

“Mustard? Is it gold Theon?”

“It’s mustard, mustard is very chic.” He replies, mock hurt.

“Have you still got your single breasted, let’s get this right, mid-grey, puppy tooth, silk linen blend jacket on? Or are you just in your mustard crew neck now?”

“Uh”

“What?”

“Well I haven’t got either of them on.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t actually got anything on, I’d just come out of the shower when you phoned.”

“And you accused me of phone foreplay?” She says teasingly, she’s not sure she sounds like herself.

“I’ve got the duvet pulled right up, the air con is so aggressive its like being in the North.”

Then she is laughing, she can picture his chic shiny hotel room bathed in evening sun and him tucked up in its starched, immaculate covers.

“Do you want me to get dressed?” He asks her, “I can call you back, if it’s weird.”

“We’ve been on the phone for 40 minutes, I think it’s a bit late for getting dressed.” Sansa says, still laughing a little.

* * *

Five weeks later he phones her at quarter to 11 from White Harbour airport.

“So I was meant to be catching a flight onto Pyke, but all the planes are grounded cos of fog.” He tells her.

“Are you ok? Do you need a place to stay?”

“Sansa, I’m a financial programmer in a mid-size airport, I’ll stay in a hotel.”

“Oh, of course.”

“It just felt weird to be so close to you after the past few weeks,” he begins.

“You’re not that close, it’s like 3 hours drive.” Sansa claims.

“So,” he says, haltingly, “I thought I could catch the train up tomorrow.”

But she’s already picking up her bag, checking she’s got her purse and keys, she’s pulling on her yellow puffer jacket and her Chelsea boots.

“No, I’ll come to you, I’ll come to you now.”

“But, it’s the middle of the night,” he protests.

“Don’t worry, it’s not foggy here,” she says.

“Sansa.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming to see you Theon Greyjoy.”

She goes to hang up, then stops.

“Wait are you still there?” She asks.

“Yeah,” he sounds a little breathless, it must be surprise.

“Text me the hotel name,” she says emphatically, “and the room number.”

Then she does hang up.

Jon is away in Dragonstone doing some kind of research into WhiteOIL. Arya is not in her room. She checks in on Bran.

“I’m going White Harbour, is that ok?” She asks.

“Now?” Bran queries.

“Yeah, Theon’s there, he got stuck cos of fog.”

“Ok, see you tomorrow?” Bran asks, placidly.

“Probably, I’ll text you.”

Just as she gets to her car Arya phones her, she considers not answering. She does answer.

“You’re driving to White Harbour in the middle of the night to see Theon fucking Greyjoy?” Arya shouts tinnily through the phone’s speaker at her.

“Yes.” Sansa says simply.

“Why?” Arya asks.

“I want to.”

“What about” there is a pause “everything?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa replies, “it was a long time ago, and you wanted me to talk to someone and I talked to Theon.”

She has talked to him bit by bit. She has talked about the broken phones and the forced kisses, the pinches Joffrey gave her. He has talked to her bit by bit about the broken fingers and sleeping on the floor. They have both talked about the hidden shoes, the sudden realisation you are stuck.

They have talked bit by bit in between discussing Bran’s uncanny prescience and Asha’s bluntness. They have talked bit by bit in between remembering the time Jon got really drunk at that party for Robert Baratheon and Uncle Benjen had to drag him home, and the time Theon and Robb took her to Godswood park, started playing football, promptly forgot about her and she walked home all by herself and when her mum went out to remonstrate with them they still hadn’t noticed she was gone.

“I wanted you to talk to, like, a therapist. How’s Theon a better choice?”

Arya means a better choice than Joffrey, than Petyr.

“I know he is.” Sansa is sure of this, she knows it makes no sense to feel like this about her brothers ex best friend who she hasn’t seen in eight years. She knows it makes no sense to feel like this about someone who she has really only spoken to on the phone. She knows it sounds co-dependent to feel like this about someone whose tragedy only reflects her own pain and mistakes. And yet.

* * *

Out on the road the stars gleam clear and white, she is awake, maybe more awake than she has been in years. The rare cars in the opposite direction glare in her face but apart from that the road is a ribbon of ink stretching out before her pulling her onward. By the time she pulls into the services at Cerwyn, Theon has texted her, he’s staying at the Shermer, Airport, WH23 6JF, room 702. She puts the postcode in her in maps, picks up her coffee and hurries onwards through the dark.

Getting to White Harbour airport means negotiating the city bypass and all the roundabouts and weird lane mergers, but the roads are clear and empty, fogless, shining under the streetlights and quicker than she expects she is before the shining blue glass of the Shermer, she is walking across the lonely hotel carpark and striding into its well lit lobby.

She’s never done this before, met a man in his hotel room in the middle of night, does she book in, does she walk past, she worries. But the man at reception just nods at her as if her presence is perfectly normal, so she walks to lift. The doors spring open when she presses the button and then she is inside and she presses the 7. She should have brought knickers and make up remover and a toothbrush.

Up the lift goes, sailing her into the future.

She gets off on the seventh floor, she walks slowly on the patterned carpet. She is happy enough here and now, in this jewelled place of expectation, of hope. She knocks on 702. There is space when the door is opened, a spinning bit of paused time where she is looking at the button on his top, the angle of his cheekbones, the curl of hair behind his ear for too long. Then she is looking into his eyes and his smile is clear and bright and she pulls him into her and they hold each other and it just feels right.

I drove my car in the middle of the night  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
The road was dark but the stars were bright  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
It didn't matter what my friends would say  
I was gonna see you anyway  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
You were staying in a big hotel  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
I didn't know you very well  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
We'd always talked on the telephone  
But I'd never been with you all alone  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
I got off on the seventh floor  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
I couldn't have asked for anything more  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
I saw your face so clear and bright  
I must have been crazy but it sure felt right  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
I just wanted to see you so bad  
I just wanted to see you so bad

Lucinda Williams _Lucinda Williams_ 1988.


End file.
